you keep me breathing
by tysunkete
Summary: Oneshot. AUs. Multiple universes, platonic soulmates. (In any universe, Makoto is always there to pull him out of the water.)


_Title:_ you keep me breathing  
><em>Fandom:<em> Free!  
><em>CharacterPairing:_ Haruka, Makoto  
><em>Summary:<em> Oneshot. AUs. Multiple universes, platonic soulmates. (In any universe, Makoto is always there to pull him out of the water.)

_Notes: I_'ve written a very similar one like this for Lavi/Kanda (D. Gray Man) but I wanted to try something just a tiny bit different, in that in every universe Makoto and Haru are childhood friends with an intense platonic soulbond. In the end it focused a lot on how deeply Makoto cares for Haru, and Haru acknowledges this. First time writing for this fandom so I'm not confident with their dialogue, but then again it's how they interact without words that really attracts me to this pairing.

* * *

><p>"I believe death is only a door. One closes, and another opens. If I were to imagine heaven, I would imagine a door opening. And he would be waiting for me there."<br>― David Mitchell, _Cloud Atlas_

* * *

><p><strong>[Tokyo, 2014]<strong>

"Haru!"

Makoto waits a beat for any sort of response from the other side of the door, but sighs eventually when he knows he's not going to get one. With a wry smile he tries the doorknob and isn't particularly surprised to find that it's unlocked—he has reminded Haru time and time again that Tokyo isn't Iwatobi, he's not staying next to Makoto's family anymore, he really needs to be careful in case someone breaks into his apartment—but as usual the black-haired taciturn teen does not listen. Makoto is only vaguely thankful that the door isn't locked in times like these as he steps in to the apartment.

"Haru?" He calls, and there is again no answer.

Unopened boxes still line the corridor of the studio apartment even though it has been three months. Makoto gives them just a glance and a shake of the head before he heads directly to the bathroom to where Haru _always_ is—one rap on the door and he lets himself in, smiling.

"Haru," he says with exasperated fondness, holding out a hand. "Come on, we're late."

Haru sits in his tub with his eyes closed submerged in warm water and only opens his eyes when he hears Makoto's words. He blinks and shakes his head a little to flick the water out of his eyes, vision focusing on the outstretched hand in front of him. As much as he would like to sit in the tub longer, he knows that Makoto's got a point. On a usual day he might be even more reluctant, but today they are flying back to Iwatobi, the first time in three months since they left for Tokyo.

He puts his hand into Makoto's larger palm, grasping it back as Makoto gently pulls him out of the water. It's a feeling and a sight that's much rarer now as compared to their past years being neighbours, and Haru feels much more settled after this as he stands dripping in his tub, taking the towel Makoto hands him absently. Although they've both moved to Tokyo to pursue their dreams, they aren't staying as close as they were before.

Makoto's university is closer to the city centre whereas the pool that he trains in is closer to the outskirts. This means that Makoto can't come over every day to pull him out of the tub, but the other still does on weekends when they agree to meet up; he suspects Makoto comes over just to make sure that he doesn't lose track of time soaking in the water, which has happened before in their middle school days. It's become a routine so much that Haru doesn't question it anymore—in fact, it's odd when Makoto _doesn't_ come over, and it took him his first week alone in his Tokyo apartment to fully come to terms with that.

It's because Makoto's always been _there_ for him, when he opens his eyes. In the bathroom, in the pool. It's just weird when Makoto isn't. But they're in college now and Haru knows that Makoto has his own things to do, his own dream to chase, and he can't be the one weighing the other down. Not when Makoto's always been the one holding him upfloat—from the time that he takes the dolphin keychain from Makoto's palms to the desperate grip on his wrist under that firework lit sky.

Makoto fusses over him as he wraps the towel around himself and pushes him into his room to change.

"Hurry!" Makoto huffs outside his door. "We don't have much time!"

It's a good thing that Haru is a quick changer—within minutes he's out of his jammers and into a fresh set of clothes with his hand carry luggage hefted over his shoulder. Makoto smiles in relief when he exits, and soon they're on their way to the airport. They don't speak much while they're on the train. Haru can feel Makoto brimming with excitement on returning home after such a long while, no doubt eager to see his family and the rest. Haru's parents are on the contrary in Tokyo, so he actually sees more of them while he's here, but Iwatobi's still _home_ for him as much as it is for Makoto.

It's where they've been together after all this time, after all.

It's somewhat ridiculous when he thinks about _that day_—the first and only day he's ever spoken such harsh words to Makoto; their first fight. They've been together for as long as he can remember: they're neighbours, their parents have always been good friends, and just somehow they had gotten along so many years without once shouting at each other. In fact, it made sense to him that they never would because of Makoto's overly placating personality and his own reserved demeanour. But Rin had questioned it otherwise with an incredulous furrow of his eyebrows when they were in Australia.

"Hah? Are you serious? Your _first_ fight?" the other had frowned. "You're kidding me. Friends fight all the time, like me and Sousuke. But it doesn't mean that we don't get over it."

But that's not how he and Makoto had worked, and it scared him to bits. Was it really so easy to _get over it_ like Rin had said? How does one do that? He can't retract all the things he said to Makoto, no matter how desperately he wants to. He can only apologise and hope that Makoto still finds him tolerable to be with. It is then lying on the overly soft bed in a foreign country with a foreign body (Rin) next to his, he thinks about all the things that Makoto has done for him:

Making sure that he gets to school on time by getting him out of the tub, bringing an extra bento on days where he can't be bothered to prepare one, keeping him company during breaks, during lunch, walking home together, sharing popsicles on the way back, bringing a large umbrella because he doesn't bring one; there are a million things that Makoto implicitly does in their everyday life that without Makoto, Haru doesn't know where to begin. Makoto is his gaming buddy, his jogging partner, his swimming mate, his _best friend_.

A 'sorry' will never be enough to make up for all these things that he's taken for granted, and when Makoto smiles at him at the airport with a 'Haru, welcome back' like nothing has changed after Australia, he knows that it will _never_ be enough.

Because that's who Makoto _is_—that kind of selfless-ness; Haru thinks that Makoto would be exactly like this no matter where they are, in any universe.

* * *

><p><strong>[Paris, 2001]<strong>

"Another."

"Haru, no, you've had enough."

"Another," Haru insists, lifting his head drowsily to shoot a glare. "Makoto. Give me another."

Makoto sighs and takes the small glass cup from the counter and refills it with a tequila shot. Haru grabs it the moment the filled glass touches the counter and downs it, eyes squeezed shut. Makoto hovers uncertainly as Haru keeps still with his eyes closed, and sighs again when Haru slumps forward, pushing the empty glass towards him once more.

"S'another."

"No," Makoto says firmly this time, taking the shot glass away.

Haru makes a displeased noise but he doesn't lift his head, so Makoto counts it as a success. It is not often that Haru drinks—on the contrary, Haru doesn't like the smell of alcohol, but time to time the other will appear at the bar he's working in late at night with a stormy black expression and Makoto will resign himself to indulging his best friend a little. They grew up in the same community when they were young; both of their parents were immigrants from Japan to Geneva, until Haru moved to Paris for college and his career. Makoto made the move a couple of years later too just for bigger prospects and found a bartending job that suited him well, and he's been there ever since.

It's been hard on Haru, he knows, who has been hailed as prodigal painter before he could even talk—it's always been pressure, pressure and more pressure on the artist to come up with something that will astound the critics. Haru doesn't like to talk about art even though Makoto knows that the other does love it. It's just, over the years alone in Paris with constant expectations in every stroke that Haru paints, it's been wearing him thin. In times like these, Haru drinks.

"Makoto," His boss, a tanned elder with bleached blonde hair by passes him behind the bar counter and pats his shoulder. "Take the night off."

Technically it's already the wee hours of the morning, but Makoto isn't done with his shift until a couple of hours more. "I couldn't possibly—"

"You can," his boss tells him, grinning wryly. "I know you crunched in extra hours for Rei last week. Besides, it's nearly empty now. I can handle the rest."

"But—"

"Take your friend home."

Makoto looks over to the slumped figure on the counter and bows. "I…thank you, Goro," he bows sincerely.

His boss merely chuckles and busies with something else behind the counter. Makoto wrings out his shoulders and heads to the backdoors to get his things. Once he's out with his tie loosened and coat over his attire, he gently shakes Haru by the shoulders.

"Come on, let's get you home," he murmurs, lifting one of Haru's arms over his shoulders.

Haru blinks his eyes open and shakes his head, face slightly flushed. "'S don wanna go s'home," the other slurs. "'S-nothing there…just dark and 'sloney…"

"I know," Makoto replies, hefting Haru properly before he leads them out into the cold winter air. "That's why I came to Paris, you know."

* * *

><p><strong>[Hong Kong, 2025]<strong>

It rains like a thunderstorm at the end of the world, how fitting.

Haru stares ahead as they move through the crashing washes, right, left, right, left, their Jaeger pushing through the torrential gushes of seawater. They've been waiting for this moment ever since they've been accepted as Jaeger pilots, but at the same time, they don't want it to come.

Twelve years ago of the first kaiju attack on San Francisco, they had merely been children themselves watching an alien reminiscent of Godzilla films rampaging through the American city on the television broadcast. It felt like an episode of _Kamen Rider_ to be honest, until less than a year later another huge monstrous beast emerged in Mexico. And then Sydney. And then Canada.

And then Tokyo.

Haru was only eighteen, fresh out of high school, when he witnessed his parents crushed under the rubble. The kaiju was far larger than he ever understood, towering above him like a massive temple, its ugly appearance in striking yellow and blue. It had claws like a crab, heavy and thick, and he could only crouch trembling behind broken concrete with screams and yells permeating in the distance as the kaiju maneuvered around the devastated streets.

It is also the first time he sees a Jaeger in action in first person—Coyote Tango, a robot just as large as the kaiju and seemingly more solid in metal with a huge glowing core in its centre. He can never forget the roars of the monster and the unrelenting force staggering through the ground as the Jaeger and kaiju fought. Black blood splattered everywhere and screeching loud machinery infiltrated through his ears as Haru watched, entranced.

Although Coyote Tango wins and he is saved, but the memory of it burns deeper than any scar he will have for the rest of his life. He spends the next few months in the hospital, in therapy, waking up in the middle of the night with sweat soaked sheets and eyes stained wet. He still tastes the blood in his mouth from where he had accidentally bitten in his tongue whilst trying to run away.

It takes Makoto to pull him out of there.

Makoto had been back in Iwami when the kaiju attacked, and amidst the chaos Makoto's family had somehow managed to get themselves to Tokyo to find him. With Makoto embracing him tight and Ren and Ran holding his hands and Makoto's parents grasping his shoulders in the hospital room, he thinks he might be finally be alright.

It takes him a year more before he decides to join the Jaeger programme. What he doesn't expect is Makoto enrolling along with him. It's a death wish, he tries to tell Makoto, but Makoto just looks back plainly at him. It's a lost cause trying to make the other change his mind—no matter how obliging Makoto is, when it comes to something the other's decided, it's almost like trying to push a mountain. But Haru doesn't get it. He wants to pilot a Jaeger for his parents who never lived past forty. He wants to pilot a Jaeger to quell the shaking little boy inside him who had seen a kaiju rip apart a town that he loved. He wants to pilot a Jaeger to keep Makoto and his family safe, for everything they've done for him. He asks this to Makoto one day when they're in the cafeteria in the Jaeger Academy in Alaska.

"Because it's important to you," Makoto answers simply, chewing his cut potatoes.

Haru glances over briefly, and realises that he doesn't know what to say in return.

It's also Makoto who pulls him out of the drift.

To pilot the Jaegers, two pilots are needed to balance the neural load that filters between them and the robot they control. The drift is a headspace for them to share their memories, thoughts, feelings, allowing them to move as one. During their first drift sync testing, Haru slips down the drift, weighed by the memory of _that day_. Haru can only register vague murmurings of someone familiar patting his cheek when he tries to open his eyes, but the haze in his mind is thick with anger and mourning.

_Haru_, he hears vaguely. _Haru, you have to come back. Because you're important to me._

The words echo in his head, giving him an anchor to hold and surface. When he does, he gasps awake and meets the relieved face of Makoto who looks like he's on the verge of crying.

_Me too_, he wants to say, but the emotions clog in his throat and he ends up not saying anything.

After that Haru is careful about clinging to the memories that hurt him, because he cannot drag Makoto down with him. They graduate successfully and bring down five kaijus over the next four years.

This is the last time they're going to do this, pushing through the waves of the ocean. The predicted apocalypse. Six years since he's waited for this moment. The anticipation and fear should crush him breathless, but funnily enough he feels calm knowing that Makoto is just at the edge of his headspace.

_Makoto_, he begins, knowing that he should say the words he should've have said a long time ago.

But he hears Makoto's chuckle echo in return. _Me too._

* * *

><p><strong>[Arabia, 1720]<strong>

It's been three weeks since they've left the city and Haru doesn't see anything other than sand, sand and more sand. It's frustrating because he knows he's got it right this time—they're going in the right direction but it's taking much longer than he expects. He's on a mission to find an oasis that's been rumoured to be somewhere where they are as ordered by the King. Water supply is running low in their city and if they don't find another source soon, the disaster is going to be untold.

Sweat pools in the cloth he's wrapped around his head to starve off the heat getting to his brain. Beside him Makoto's head is similarly wrapped in cloth, but his body is bare and his muscles glisten in the stark sunlight. Makoto nudges the camel between them along with no complaint on his lips, but even then Haru is frustrated on his behalf. Their supplies are wearing thin between them—Makoto is the one who takes notes and rations their food portions, but he knows that they haven't got much left. His water is already out since yesterday.

The sensible thing to do is to head back and stock up before trying again, but the oasis has to be around here _somewhere_—they're wandered far out enough for too long. There is also the teensy problem that Haru is afraid that they're actually lost in the middle of this vast arena where everything just looks the same. It might take them just as long to reach back—if so, they are going to dehydrate or starve to death before that happens. No, they have to push on and believe.

Haru's steps imprint on the musky sand as he presses onward up a sand dune. His tongue is dry and his throat is parched and god, he wants water so badly.

And then he sees it.

"It's there," he whispers to himself, standing still on top of the sand dune.

It's a sparkling white city—walls like marble and opal and greenery and _water_. They're here. They're finally here.

"Haru?" Makoto questions when he comes to a stop beside him.

"It's there," he repeats.

"I don't see anything," Makoto replies, confused, and then his eyes widen when Haru stumbles forward. Makoto barely manages to catch the other before he hits the sand. "Haru!"

"Let's go, we're so close," he mumbles, but Makoto lifts him up by his arm tossed over the other's shoulders.

"Let's take a break," Makoto says instead, looking around frantically, but there isn't anything different from what they have seen for the past few weeks. Just sand.

"It's just there, Makoto."

Makoto shakes his head and sets him down when the other realises there is no shelter they can take in these parts. He peers closely at Haru, noting the cracked lips and delirious gaze.

"Have you been drinking enough water?" he asks, patting around for Haru's water flask, and when he does find it, he finds that it is also empty. "Why didn't you tell me?" he sounds aghast, but Haru hears it muted.

"You're almost out too, aren't you?" he says tiredly.

"That doesn't matter!" Makoto huffs, bringing up his own water flask and uncorking it to hold it to Haru's mouth. "Here."

"Makoto—" he tries to push it away. "Let's just get to the city."

"There is no city," Makoto sighs, and Haru's head swims again. "Stop talking. Drink," Makoto states firmly, tone no room for argument.

He shakes his head but when the first drops of water land on his lips, he licks it greedily. He winces as he tries to swallow a little more down as they come trickling slowly out of the flask, with Makoto's soft encouraging words a dull blur at the back of his mind.

He's so tired from the walking and heat. He just wants to close his eyes and sleep this away. This is a terrible journey and he knew it was going to be—he shouldn't have let Makoto come along with him. After all, this is _his_ mission, not Makoto's, but he let the other tag behind because he didn't mind the company. One week later on the road, he realised that he _needed_ the company. But because of his own indulgence, he might have very well sent Makoto to death in the desert along with him. It's his last regret before he slips into the welcoming darkness.

"_Haru—!"_

* * *

><p><strong>[New York, 2009]<strong>

"Sorry," Makoto apologises.

"Don't be," Haru murmurs.

They're huddling in an empty train carriage deep in the underground subway, a place that they've made home for the past three days. It's never a good idea to stay at one place and so they keep moving from time to time, like they have for the past two months. It's a living nightmare that they hope they can wake up from, but each day they wake up back to this: the living dead hunting them down.

These are the stuff of sci-fi and horror movies, but they're living in one. Partially Deceased Syndrome (PDS) they called it, a medical condition that first appeared to be fatal, but within the next twenty four hours the patient would rise again in a rabid state. No one knew for sure where it began but the syndrome spread quickly as though it was infectious through air—with the early breakouts in the hospitals there was a massive struggle in containment and quarantine, and within three months with no cure or vaccine, the city was overrun.

The first time Haru returned to his dorm in college and saw _something_ eating the bloodied guts of his roommate, he had ran straight back to campus to the photography club room to find Makoto. He did find Makoto, but Makoto was pressing himself against the wall at the far corner, eyes wide with fear at the disfigured zombie tearing apart one of his club mates.

Several hours later when they've found themselves a temporary safe spot in the library, Makoto throws up. They've been on the run ever since, and it hasn't been easy, especially for Makoto. It's because Makoto has always been afraid of ghosts and creepy things and this is exactly like Makoto's worse nightmare come true. Haru isn't sure that Makoto even sleeps.

A couple of hours ago he had arisen realising that Makoto is missing, but then he found that the other had been creeping around the subway station trying to scavenge anything he could from the vending machines. A zombie had spotted him then, and maybe it was luck that Haru finds him at that moment that they make it out of there alive.

But it certainly isn't luck that even when Makoto is deathly scared, the other still manages to worry about their provisions, like food and water and medicine and the things that actually keep them _alive_.

He would never make it this far without Makoto.

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong>**Shonan-to****, 1943] **

"Which one of you did it?" the officer asks calmly, but a whips cracks in the background and everyone flinches. "Answer me."

It's a terrible thing to be in a war. When they signed up to be soldiers, Haru hadn't quite expected this. Glory to the nation, it was promised. For the emperor. For the people. It was a marvellous thing to stand smartly in their uniforms saluting the Japanese flag on their day of deployment to Singapore a year ago. Fighting for their country, fighting for their honour. Liberating the oppressed. For a new nation, for a new world.

That's what Haru truly believed, until he stood in front of a family of six with the children huddling behind their parents crying with his rifle pointed at them. The row of houses was set blaze but the parents were just kneeling on their knees begging him not to shoot, uncaring of how their world crumbled around them, because what mattered most was their children.

He was supposed to shoot. _Everyone here are traitors. Kill on sight._ That was his orders. But the children cried louder and his finger faltered.

"What are you doing?"

Haru jerks when another voice barks harshly behind him. One of his platoon mates surveys the burning house and the people gathered at the corner. Without a second thought, a gun is raised and six shots echoes in the air. Blood splatteres across Haru's cheek.

"Let's get moving before this shit burns us," his platoon mate scoffs, stuffing his gun back into its holster and sauntering away.

Sticky red substance seeps into a dark pool at the limp pile of bodies, reaching out to his feet.

"Haru?"

"Haru!"

Haru blinks when a warm palm wraps around his shoulder. He meets Makoto's green eyes and tears his gaze away. Makoto cocks his head questioningly, until he sees the bloodied bodies in the corner and his grip tightens almost painfully.

"…It wasn't me," Haru mumbles.

Makoto sucks in a painful breath, but when the cackling of the fire burns too loudly he steers Haru out of the house. They don't speak until the end of that night in their bunkers, crouched at the corner near the window looking up at the full moon in the sky.

"What are we doing here, Makoto?" Haru wonders.

He signed up to fight for his country, not to kill and terrorise innocent lives. Women. Children.

"I don't know," Makoto answers softly. "…I saw Tani-san raping a woman the other day," he confesses, and Haru looks over to him. "I tried to stop him but…"

"Is that how you got this?" Haru pokes at the yellow bruise on Makoto's right temple, and Makoto winces. "You told me you hit something on accident."

Makoto nods sombrely. "I don't think we should be here at all."

They shouldn't, they really shouldn't, but there isn't a choice. If either of them voice their disagreement with any of the orders they've been given, it's arrest, detention, or even death. Several weeks in, it gets hard to turn a blind eye to the things that the Japanese army is really doing in this small nation; the beatings, the maltreatment, the _murders_—it's an military occupation, not a liberation mission like they had been led to believe.

There had to be _something_ they could do for these people, and one day when a young girl face dirtied and desperate clung on to Haru's leg when he was on patrol begging for food, they found something they could do.

Food was scarce as the Japanese controlled it as they did with everything else. Rations were given to the people but even that amount decreased as the months went by. It was clearly not enough for the average person to live by, but yet in the Japanese army they were well fed. It was a simple matter of sneaking into the warehouse to steal a few cups of rice at first, and then they got bolder and took away more luxurious things like salt and corn. Meat was a rarity but sometimes it was worth it to see that smile on the receiving end—always the little children who managed to creep to the corner of their military camp.

It was inevitable that someone would notice the missing portions in the warehouse really, given how painstaking the Japanese were about everything.

"Which one of you did it?" the officer repeats, this time harsher. "ANSWER ME!"

Haru swallows, gaze darting over to Makoto. Neither of them dares to breathe as the officer strolls down their barrack, eyeing each and every one of the platoon members.

"If no one comes forward," the officer warns. "All of you will have your families executed by tonight."

Shocked murmurings burst forth but they are quickly silenced as the officer swivels his unforgiving gaze around.

"No one?" he smiles cruelly.

Haru can't do this Makoto, he knows. Not to Makoto, not to the rest of his platoon mates no matter how much he despises what they've done. What _he's_ done. It was his idea to steal from the warehouse after all. He takes in a deep breath.

"It was—"

"—me," Makoto steps forward, head held high. "Sir."

The officer's smirk widens and nods. "Come with me, soldier," he says and turns on his heel.

Makoto follows obediently, but Haru catches him by the sleeve when he walks past. He wants to get his words out but Makoto shakes his head firmly, pinning him with a look that keeps him silent. A second later Makoto is out of their barrack door, hands behind his back. Haru's heartbeat thunders in his head despite the relieved murmurings in the room. He can't let Makoto do this for him. Can he?

_Can he?_

* * *

><p><strong>[North Atlantic Ocean, 1912]<strong>

Haru tries to yank open the door but it's no use—the water pressure building inside from the room that he's stuck in is rising faster than ever. Water pools to his knees now and he's soaked from how he's spent the past few minutes splashing about trying to find a way out. The loud alarm blares outside, muted by the closed doorway. Haru grits his teeth and pulls the metal handle as hard as he can once more. It remains stuck.

Taking a deep breath, Haru tries not to panic.

Why was this happening? Wasn't this ship supposed to be indestructible? The _Titanic_, she was named, wasn't she?

But here and now in the reality of seawater filling up the enclosed room, one of the many in the middle deck, there isn't anything but to accept the situation. He's only here because it's somewhere he had found to hide away from the upper class society that he's so expected to mingle with—instead, time to time he slips away here to doodle in his sketchbook. Maybe if he wasn't such a recluse, he'd be somewhere else with more chances of getting to safety. He just hopes that the water hasn't reached the promenade deck where his parents and Makoto and his family are, or that they've evacuated off the ship. He looks over at the stuck door and realises that he's going to die alone.

It terrifies him more than he expects.

How long till the water fills up? How long can he hold his breath? How long till he drowns? But it's okay, he tries to reason with himself. It's okay because he doesn't have any regrets. The water level rises to his thighs.

"Anybody there?" he shouts, just for a final time.

It's just the gush of water and alarm blaring that greets him in return, but several seconds later he hears a muted, "Haru!"

His eyes widen. "Makoto!" he yells back, moving to the door. "I'm in here!" he bangs the back of his door and soon enough there is a similar noise on the opposite of it.

"Hang on!"

Haru pulls at the door as hard as he can, muscles straining. There seems to be something stuck underneath in the chaos, but with their combined strength a gap opens up and Haru can hear Makoto's heavy breaths of effort. Together they don't yield, gritting their teeth, until suddenly the door lurches forwards and nearly throws Makoto forward; Haru himself falls backward into the water.

Haru trashes at the saltwater in his eyes, but a hand grasps his and pulls him up. Makoto is panting from the strength he's exerted, but his relieved smile says all that he wants to say.

"Makoto…" Haru starts, eyes meeting the other. "Why…"

"'Why not' is what you should be asking," Makoto replies, and turns heel to drag him out of the room. "Your parents are on the boat deck waiting for you. Let's hurry."

It's hard to move when the water level is up to their waist now, but they stumble and wade down the corridor, avoiding the odd things that are floating around them. Eventually they reach the end of it to the stairwell, both of them soaked and dripping as they pull themselves inch by inch up by the railings. However, when they get to the top, the door doesn't open.

Looking through the transparent window at the top, they realise that it's because the upper deck is flooded as well. If they manage to open the door, water will come gushing at them. If they don't, they're stuck down here, a sure death.

Their eyes meet.

There is no guarantee they are going to make out of this alive, Haru realises. Makoto had the chance to get out of here, only to sabotage it just to find him. His trembling hand encloses over Makoto's before he even knows it. Makoto looks down at it, and then back at him again and nods.

Together, they push with everything they've got, and brace themselves for the force of the oncoming sea.

* * *

><p><strong>[Rio, 2016]<strong>

Haru breathes heavily, palms still pressed against the edge of the pool as he surfaces, and barely registers the screams and hoots of the crowd. It's a thundering mess filtering through his ears mixed in with his rushing pulse and jagged panting. Beside him in the next pool lane, Rin slaps with the surface of the water with an agitated sigh, though he is slightly smirking.

"This isn't over," Rin states, crossing his arms petulantly. "I'm taking the gold medal for sure, next time."

Haru glances up towards the large score board and catches sight of the Japan flag symbol at position 6th—Rin Matsuoka. On the position above that at 5th—Haruka Nanase. Neither of them are Olympic medallists but that's okay; this is their first Olympics and it definitely won't be the last. Haru lets a small smile grace his lips as he soaks in the cool of the water sloshing at his chest.

At their right a media mob has formed waiting for the gold medallist to exit, and the fuss immediately focuses on the winners, leaving the rest slightly less attended which is when Makoto comes forward, crouching towards the edge of the pool with a hand out.

"Haru!" He beams, eyes wide and amazed. "That was _incredible_!" he laughs, breathless. "Fifth in the _world_!"

Haru grasps the offered hand and lets Makoto's strength help him out of the water, matching Makoto's wide grin with his more subtle upturn of his lips. It's almost like they're back in Iwatobi again, after trainings with Makoto reaching out to him, at the end of their relay with Makoto reaching out to him, to _him_.

It is a truth that he could never be standing on an international stage if not for Makoto—Makoto may not be swimming beside him like Rin is, but it is Makoto who kept him breathing for all his years while he was drowning in the water he loved so much, it is Makoto who keeps him breathing while he's still in the water he loves so much, it is Makoto who will keep him breathing as he continues to be in the water that he loves so much.

"Makoto," he begins, mouth slightly dry.

It's been a long while coming.

"Thank you," he says.

Makoto blinks, and then shakes his head, smiling. "What for?"

He tightens their hand hold. He means it in any universe that every Makoto might hear. "Everything."

* * *

><p><strong>Fin.<strong>

* * *

><p>The list of universes are as follows:<p>

_[Tokyo, 2014]:_ post S2 anime canon  
><em>[Paris, 2001] :<em> bartender AU  
><em>[Hong Kong, 2025] :<em> pacific rim AU  
><em>[Arabia, 1720] :<em> splash free Arabian AU  
><em>[New York, 2009] :<em> zombie apocalypse AU  
><em>[<em>_Shonan-to__, 1943] :_ Japanese occupation of Singapore AU  
><em>[North Atlantic Ocean, 1912] :<em> titanic AU  
><em>[Rio, 2016] :<em> back to post S2 anime canon, Olympics AU


End file.
